From the Axe in his Head
by FantasytoHeart
Summary: He was once a gentleman, but unfortunately that is no longer possible. A look into what all Bifur lost in to the ax in his head and how it affected his family. How could a mentally deranged dwarf find himself on a quest the would change all of Middle Earth. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place many years before the start of the quest so some details are not the same as they simply haven't happened yet. For example, Bifur has completely black hair and Oin hasn't started using an ear trumpet. This is set after the battle for Moria.**

**I don't know entirely where this story is going, but weeeehhh. Man, years of reading and never posting and now I'm on my fourth story. I don't know what that means, I hope it is not. . . . Oh boy I don't even know. As ever, Enjoy.**

The dwarves of Erebor had not been in the Blue Mountains long, about 5 years ago. They had finally settled, trying to start a new life. Almost 20 years after The Calamity had attacked The Lonely Mountain.

Not every survivor of the sacking of the mountain came, some choosing to go to the Iron Hills. Dwarves of many heritages lived in Ered Luin, mostly those of Khazad-dum (1). The descendants of Moria first settled in the northern mountains after Durin's Bane (2) brought unspeakable shadow to the ancient kingdom. So deep was the terror, no one spoke of it. As the centuries past the truth in the death of Durin was lost to myth and legend.

Here is where Bofur has spent his entire life. It was a simple life, living as a miner and spending his free time whittling knick-knacks from wood. The dwarves of Ered Luin all lived a simple life. Their homes dotted the mountain side, carved into the stone, with various squares and the Lower Town.

Lower town was main market to the mountain, where most of the trade and political happenings of the area took place. The wooden village was teeming with shops and travelers, both dwarves and Men.

Bofur lived just above Lower Town. It only took him about twenty minutes to walk to the town. It made his walk to the mine longer, but that didn't bother Bofur. Unlike most dwarves, he enjoyed the bustle of the people, always ready to listen to stories and share a few of his own. He spent many a night talking to the various patrons of the tavern where his little brother, Bombur, worked as a cook.

Most of the time, Bombur had to walk close to his elder brother, making sure he made it back in one piece to the home they shared after a night at the pub.

Tonight may be one of those nights; it had been a long day in the mine. The dust clung to his clothes and hair, but the miner was used to the dirt after many years of work.

Humming a little tune to himself, Bofur walked into the modest home he shared with Bombur. The ginger haired dwarf was already at the tavern by this time, so Bofur had the place to himself. He quickly left his pickaxe by the door and washed up. He didn't stay long though, grabbing his fur hat, and headed to Lower town.

Bofur never like being alone, it was too quiet and empty. A constant reminder that he had no one else other than Bombur. He never told his large, little brother how much he hated the silence, of how much it made him feel like he was suffocating. And he spent the majority of his waking hours underground!

Their parents had died from a terrible illness that claimed many lives, many years ago, leaving the two young brothers alone.

The silence was lonely. The silence was death.

Bofur shook himself from the dark thoughts, pulling the long, wide flaps of his hat down over his ears. The hat had been a gift from his father before his death. Bofur wore it everywhere except the mines. He couldn't let it get filthy, dirty, despite what Bombur said about that already happening.

As he walked down the familiar path, the miner was reminded of someone else he had. "Bifur," He shouted to his cousin. The black haired dwarf was as close as a brother to him and also needed company. Bifur had no other family than the two brothers as his mother had died in childbirth and he lost his father a few years later in a mining accident.

No, Bofur thought ruefully, the fates had not been kind to his family. But neither had they been kind to the family that the miner noticed his cousin speaking to.

"Please excuse me, my Lady. Have a good evening. Goodbye, little ones" Bifur said to the woman and child in front of him as Bofur approached. Although the blacksmith had no wife or children he had always been a gentleman.

When he got closer, he saw that the woman had a second child on the hip away from him. He almost missed the child as the boy's head was tucked into his mother's shoulder and his dark hair blended with hers.

"Of course, good day," the dwarrowdam said politely, taking the hand of blond haired boy at her side and walked into the house. Bofur knew their faces from somewhere, but couldn't place them. Oh well, it would come to him eventually.

Bifur waited for his cousin to meet him, before falling in line with his cousin.

"Who's that?" Bofur asked.

"Your neighbors," was the smart response.

"Obviously, but why were you talking to them," Bofur shot back. They had not been his neighbors for long as boxes and chests were stacked outside the home.

"The blond boy lost his ball in the road and I gave it back to him. That's how I got to talking to Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain." He had none of his own, but Bifur loved children and loved to make them smile. He couldn't help but smile when the dwarfling face lit up at the return of his toy.

"What," Bofur was surprised, why had royalty moved down the road from dirty miners? He asked if Bifur knew.

"She moved out here with her brother and sons for a more open area for her boys."

"Her brother? As in, . . ."

"Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Who is now your new neighbor."

That was a shock, everyone knew the legend of Thorin son of Thrain and how he got the name Oakenshield.

"By my beard." Bofur said, ignoring his cousin's chuckle at his response. There wasn't really much else to say when one found a king living on the road they grew up on.

As they walked to The Fat Fool, where Bombur worked, Bifur told him about Thorin. The king apparently worked in the same, small forge as his cousin. It was only Bifur, Thorin, an ex-soldier friend of the king's named Dwalin and two other dwarves. Apparently Oakenshield had been working there for a number of years, but according to his cousin, Bofur lived under a rock. He tried not to dwell on the irony of that statement.

Now the miner understood why the blacksmith didn't seem frazzled by the sudden proximity of the king and his family.

Even with royalty now living down the road, not much changed in the lives of Bofur and Bombur in the next few months. Between the two of them, they had not exchanged more than a few pleasantries with Dis and smiles and jokes with her sons. Neither had spoken to Thorin.

The fate would curse Bofur's family once more.

The day started out as normal, Bombur would sleep in after working late. So the miner got up, ate breakfast, and grabbed some lunch, before walking out the door headed to the mine. Nothing was out of the ordinary, the sun was shining and the air was fresh. It was days like today that made Bofur hate having to work in the mine and miss the beautiful times.

So he walked steadily, breathing in what he could of the lovely morning before heading into the dark tunnels. The tranquility was broken when the warning horns of Lower town started blaring. The sharp, high-pitch sound bounced off the sides of the mountain, its message echoing to all the inhabitants.

The town was in danger.

From what, Bofur had no idea, but he wasn't going to stand by and let people die either. The miner charged back down the way he came. Then ditched the path altogether, skipping over loose rocks, down the hills to where already dwarves were gathering with various weapons and tools at their disposal.

A cry went out and Thorin son of Thrain stood on top of a barrel, shouting orders and formations. No one question him, doing as they were told. The harden beings quickly organized under the exiled king's direction, dividing into different squadrons. Bofur found himself in the group Thorin Oakenshield was leading. He looked about trying to find those he knew, but almost everyone there was of Erebor, of who the miner knew few.

Bofur suddenly caught a glimpse of coal black hair amongst the others, Bifur was with this squadron as while. He wasn't able to get close to Bifur as they small army had started to move out, but he couldn't help but feel relieved at his cousin's presence even if other didn't realize it.

But the miner couldn't reflect on that for long as cries and ear-shattering shrieks rung out as the dwarves marched down the hill.

Orcs. The foul creatures swarmed like a mass of flies to the settlement. Why the ugly monsters did was anyone's guess. The only thing in their way was a wall of dwarves. The orcs charged with abandon, lusting for blood and death, but Bofur did not fear them. He feared for the families behind him. He feared for his brother, and for the shining, happy heirs of Durin. He feared for the living that the dead always leave behind.

But one may never think on such things for long, adjusting he grip on his pickaxe, Bofur shouted a Khuzdul war cry with his brethren at the beasts that dared threaten their home.

Chaos ensued. Orc after orc appeared before him, but Bofur continuously struck out at any that came in his path. He didn't hesitate when a warg appeared, striking out with the end of his pickaxe. Nailing the ugly beast in the eye. Dwalin appeared across the mutt's back and together they tag-teamed at attacking the monster, striking back and forth until the beast began to tired and the bald soldier finished it with an ax to the neck.

"Thorin, look out!" a voice went out. Bofur whipped around to see the dwarven king fighting off two orcs at once and another preparing to strike him in the back. But the miner was too far away to intervene.

Thorin had no means to cover himself, his back was undefended and exposed. But the odds never stopped the stubborn dwarf before. Thorin thrust his sword out, catching one orc in the gut, then kicking it away as it screamed its death throes.

The other orc was not discouraged at the death of its companion, and the dwarf king caught its crooked blade on his oaken shield. But it was too late, out of the corner of his eye he could see an ugly axe driving toward his head.

Then Thorin's view went black, but he did not lose consciousness. The dark cloud was the hair of his forge mate. He could do nothing but watch in horror as a fellow dwarf took a deathblow meant for him.

A scream echoed in Thorin's hearing over the din of the battle, the voice cracking in terror as the ax met it's mark and the dark haired blacksmith fell.

"BIFUR!"

**Hmm, let me know what you think. I'm thinking about starting another multi-chapter fic, but I am not sure. Please review your thoughts. **

**(1): Khazad-dum is the original dwarven name of Moria, before it fell. For clarification Thorin and most of the company descend from the Line of Durin, which is mostly based in Erebor. While Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur are of the Khazad-dum, the dwarves of Moria. So they technically don't have any direct blood ties and have never been to the Lonely Mountain before.**

**(2): The balrog of Moria that the fellowship later pisses off.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Extra-long chapter 1, but there was a lot I wanted to set up and reach a good ending point. Things should move at a better pace now and I might even go back and redo the first chapter. I don't even know, distraction.**

**In other news, I got an interview to vet school!**

Time slowed almost to a stop for Bofur, the rage of battle fell to the background as his family was cut down. He didn't hear himself scream or the crack in his voice.

But he could not go to his cousin, could do nothing to help. The battle waged on and if Bofur did not continue to fight he would join his cousin in the afterlife. Orcs still screamed and swarmed. A hand yanked him to his feet. When had he fallen? The miner could not remember.

"Fight or die," Dwalin shouted giving the distraught dwarf a shake for good measure. The tall soldier had seen many battles and enough devastation to recognize defeat in another's eyes. More than once he had seen a friend fall because they had just given up. Too tired to fight and too long to remember the reason they fought for. Hopefully, what little he could offer would be what hit took to remind Bofur.

Likely for Dwalin, it was enough to rouse the fire in this dwarf's heart. A harsh scream ripped from Bofur as he charged forward. Dwalin was hard on his heels.

Bofur pounded toward Thorin, who was still struggling with his opponents. The long legged Dwalin beat him to the king, killing the orc from behind, but that did nothing to slow Bofur's rage. He swung his pickaxe into the nearest spawn of Mordor and did not stop. For if he stop, he would not be able to start again.

Soon enough, though it seemed like years to Bofur, the battle ended. The orcs were pushed back and destroyed. The field before Lowertown was filled with dead orcs and wargs and some dwarves as well, not nearly as many thankfully. The ground was slick with blood. The only noise now was the cries of the wounded and the dying.

It was the largest attack on this side of Ered Luin for as long as Bofur could remember. A gurgling chuckle pulled him from the miner's shock, he looked up to see Dwalin about to finish off a dying orc.

"Hold, Dwalin," A deep, regal voice sounded. Thorin strode forward. The king had cuts and bruises but did not appear to be more injured walked up to the orc his lieutenant held captive. Bofur was not sure what he planned, he was beyond caring, but was strangely rooted to where he stood.

"Why did you come here," The dark dwarf demanded. "What did you seek?"

The black monster continue to laugh with its last breaths, "We know *cough* he's here. We want his head."

"Whose?" Dwalin demanded, but it was too late. The orc had spent its last breaths; they would learn nothing more from it.

Bofur had moved on, scanning the bodies, looking for one in particular. He found what he sought after over an hour of searching. His voice cracked into a sob as he pulled his dead kin into his arms. Another of his dwindling family was gone. Bofur and Bombur were truly alone now.

Bombur. His younger brother had slept late and was probably woken by the warning horns. The ginger dwarf had no idea what had happened. How was Bofur going to tell him they had lost another.

Their family must be truly cursed.

He turned Bifur's face to his shoulder. Bofur's breathe caught as he spied the ugly axe in his cousin's head. the shaft of the weapon had broken off, leaving the end of the blade stuck to the left side of the blacksmith's forehead, leaking only a single trail of blood.

What had they ever done to deserve losing so many in this world? Bifur was a kind dwarf. The blacksmith had more patience than most would ever associate with the reportedly angry race. He enjoyed books and charming lasses. His elder cousin was always ready to share an ale with his family and friends, laughing long into the night.

A hand to his shoulder shook the miner from his grief. He looked up, not caring about the tears in his eyes to none other than Thorin Oakenshield. Strangely it felt like Bofur had seen more of Thorin in the past day than he had since the king moved on to his road.

"He was a good warrior," Thorin said quietly. "and a better friend. He will be missed," he finished, before giving Bofur's shoulder a squeeze in sympathy and moving away.

Bofur said nothing, for there was nothing to say. But he did feel. The miner almost brushed it off as his imagination. Until, wait. There it was again, the beat that bounced beneath his fingers.

_Thump thump_

"Wait," Bofur whispered, pulling Bifur closer. He held his hand over the blacksmith's mouth. "Wait," He shouted louder, causing Thorin to look back at him.

"He's breathin," Bofur looked at Thorin with desperation, pleading to be believed. "He's breathing," He said again. "Please help."

With a look of pity, the kind returned to the grieving dwarf's side, if only to pretend to humor him and put the his delusion to rest. Although it seemed harsh, the sooner his false hope was vanquished the easier it would be for the miner to move on rather than drag it out.

Thorin hovered his hand over his forge mate's mouth and nose. For a moment there was nothing as he expected. Until he felt it as well, meeting Bofur's eye with a look of shock.

"That's not possible," He said to himself. But it was there, the gentle breath of blacksmith brushed his fingers. Placing his fingers to the other's neck, Thorin felt a steady pulse. "That is not possible," he said again.

But it was. Bifur who had fallen, taking a blow meant for him, still lived.

**Much shorter chapter, but I felt this was where it needed to break. Please let me know what you think, lots of angst should be coming up.**


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